


Skin on Skin

by Bunnywest



Series: Thighs Verse [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Established Relationship, Leather Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 20:50:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20918417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Stiles knew he liked how Peter looks in his biker jacket.But he didn't know he hadthismuch of a thing forthatmuch leather.Or, Peter rocks the leather look. Stiles is into it.





	Skin on Skin

**Author's Note:**

> For day seven of Kinktober - Leather Kink, Deepthroating.  
(You get it a little bit early because timezones and scheduling, okay?)

“I still say it sucks,” Stiles grumbles into his beer. “_You can’t come, Stiles. You’ll be staying home, Stiles,”_ he mimics, complete with air quotes. “And then he has the hide to tell me to be waiting for him when he gets home tonight. It would serve him right if I stayed here and left him hanging.”

To say he’s upset at having been left behind while Peter went away for a week to meet with members of another pack is an understatement.

Chris rolls his eyes, props his elbows on the bar, and leans into Stiles’s personal space. “I thought you were smarter than this kid, but I can see I’m gonna have to spell it out for you. Why, exactly, do you think Peter left you home?”

“Because he’s ashamed to admit to this new pack that he's married to a puny human? Because he thinks I’ll make him look stupid or talk out of turn? Because he wants time away from me?” And okay, maybe Stiles’s brain weasels have been working overtime in the week Peter’s been away.

Chris shakes his head. “Jesus, kid. Has it occurred to you that maybe Peter didn’t want to take his new husband with him because he’s trying to keep you _safe?”_

Stiles blows a lacklustre raspberry. “Sure. I get it, I’m weak.”

When Chris swats him lightly round the back of the head, Stiles squawks in outrage. “Hey! What was that for?”

“For being a damned idiot. Listen, Peter doesn’t know this pack. They’re looking to move to town, he's gonna check them out first. And sure, they seem okay, but you think he’s gonna take his defenceless, _human _husband, the love of his life, to his first meetup, and present them with a perfect target for blackmail or kidnapping or a damned pack war? You’re not weak kid, but you _are _his weak spot. Anything happened to you, he’d never recover. So like I say, he’s keeping you safe. Pack turns out to be okay, he’ll introduce you next time.”

Stiles can feel himself slump at the sense of what Chris is saying. “When you put it that way, I guess I can see it. But why not just tell me that?”

Chris snorts. “Would you have listened? Or would you have bitched about how just because you’re human you aren’t helpless?”

Stiles starts to object, but Chris just looks at him, eyebrows raised, and his mouth shuts with a snap. He lets out a sigh. “Maybe I might have objected a little.” Chris’s eyebrow raise higher. “Okay, a lot,” Stiles amends. Chris keeps staring. “Fine. I would have pitched a fit at being considered a weakness, happy now?” Stiles huffs.

Chris just grins. “I knew you were smart. Now go home and wait for him like he told you to. Unless you _want _a pissed off Sir?”

Sometimes Stiles fucking _hates _that Chris knows exactly how things are with him and Peter. Especially when, like now, Chris is right.

He glances at his watch and shit, it’s later than he thought. “Fine. I’m going.”

* * *

Stiles still has half an hour before the time Peter told him to be waiting, but he doesn’t dare be late. A pissed off Sir really isn’t something Stiles wants, for all his earlier bravado. Neither of them is into painplay, but Peter has plenty of other ways to make him suffer, and none of them are fun.

He gets home and, after a moment’s thought, strips out of his jeans so he’s only in his collared shirt and boxer briefs. He undoes the shirt so it’s hanging open, because he knows Peter likes to see him exposed, vulnerable. Peter hasn’t asked him to, but he gets his kneeling pillow and places it inside the front door, near the coatrack where Peter will spot him as soon as he walks in, then sinks to his knees and waits. He’s missed this. Peter calling him every night has been nice, but not enough. He wants the real thing, wants Peter to walk in the door and give him a pleased smile, tell him he’s his good boy, his precious pet.

He doesn’t have to wait long. He hears Peter’s key in the lock but he keeps his head bowed, waiting. There’s the heavy tread of Peter’s boots on the floorboards as he approaches, and then a leatherclad finger under his chin, urging him to look up, and holy shit. Stiles was _not prepared_ for this.

Stiles’s eyes roam slowly up his husband’s body, taking in every inch of the sight before him.

Peter’s in black leather.

Not just his normal boots and jacket, no.

He’s wearing leather pants that Stiles has never seen before, fitted and black, molded to his thick thighs and looking like they’d be oh, so soft to touch. There’s a leather belt, complete with ridiculous biker buckle. There’s Peter’s jacket, zipped all the way up. There are – and this is where Stiles’s brain melts a little bit – those shiny new gloves. Stiles can _smell_ the newness of them from here.

“Jesus fucking Christ on a bicycle, Peter. Look at you!” he blurts out. Which is a far cry from the demure _‘Welcome home, Sir’_ that he’d had planned.

Peter just smirks though, and then rubs his gloved fingertip down the side of Stiles’s face. “Miss me, pet?” His other hand is at the back of Stiles’s head, urging him forward, and Stiles goes willingly, burying his face in Peter’s groin, rubbing his cheek against the pants and yes, they’re exactly as soft as they look.

Stiles inhales deeply, taking in the scent of wolf and sweat and leather, letting out a happy sigh. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles into the crease of Peter’s thigh.

Peter keeps him pressed there, and something in Stiles settles at the weight of Peter’s hand at the back of his head, the way Peter towers over him like this. He’d happily stay here surrounded by Sir for hours, but then Peter tugs at his hair, pulling his head back. He arches a brow. “And how are you going to welcome me home, sweet boy?” A gloved thumb traces Stiles’s bottom lip in a clear indication of the answer.

“Please Sir, may I suck you off?” Stiles is rewarded with a dazzling smile, which he takes as a yes.

He lifts his hands to unzip Peter, but Peter grasps his wrists, stilling him. He strips off one glove with his teeth, then taps Stiles lightly on the cheek with it, shaking his head. “No hands, baby. Work for it.” Stiles immediately clasps his hands behind his back, so he doesn’t forget. Peter makes an approving sound and the hand in Stiles’s hair caresses him lightly, showing Peter’s pleasure at his obedience. Stiles lights up at the touch and leans in, lips back and teeth bared.

He manages to snag the head of the zipper, and it only take a couple of tries to ease it down. Once he starts it slips easily enough, helped along by the pressure of Peter’s erection forcing it to slide down faster, because of course Peter’s gone commando. Stiles doubts there was ever room for underwear under those pants.

He’s careful to pull the zipper all the way down so he has room to work before he starts tonguing the head of Peter’s cock, making the noises he knows Peter likes to hear. Peter’s skin carries the tang of leather, and Stiles couldn’t tell you why it makes his dick perk up exactly. He doesn’t think too hard about it, just enjoys the taste, the sensation of soft skin and hard flesh against his tongue.

It’s awkward not using his hands, but he perseveres and works the tip into his mouth. Peter lets out a low groan and his hand fumbles as he undoes his belt and the button on the pants, giving Stiles more room to move. Then his bare hand is wrapped around the rest of his cock and he’s feeding it to Stiles, easing it into his mouth. “That’s it pet, take what I give you,” Peter murmurs.

Stiles tilts his head so Peter can slide in deeper, and the fingers tighten around his skull. He doesn’t know if Peter wants slow and messy or hard and fast, so he sets a leisurely pace for now, figuring Sir will let him know.

Peter rocks his hips forward, short little jabs that keep him buried in the heat of Stiles’s mouth while his gloved hand holds Stiles in place. Stiles fights to hold back his smile, because he can tell, now. Peter’s going to fuck his throat the way Stiles likes. He breathes deep through his nose and lets himself go lax in Peter’s grip as Peter picks up the pace.

Soon enough Peter’s fucking into his mouth without restraint, hitting the back of his throat, mumbling at Stiles to ‘_take that cock, let me fuck your pretty throat,_’ and Stiles rocks back and forth with the force of it. Precome spills into his mouth and he works his tongue around Peter's cockhead trying to catch all of it, tasting that salty musky flavor, swallowing wetly, the noises obscenely loud to his own ears.

Peter doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, just takes what he wants, both hands clasped around Stiles’s head now. Stiles knows Peter’s close, can tell by the sounds he’s making, so when Peter forces himself all the way in and holds Stiles there, he’s ready. Stiles works his throat and hums and Peter makes a noise like he’s been punched as he comes. Stiles swallows the warm spurts of salty liquid with practiced ease, suckling Peter through it before pulling off his softening cock with a wet slurp.

He looks up through his lashes and finds Peter watching him, mouth hanging open, color high in his cheeks. Peter cups his face and runs a thumb over his bottom lip, flesh dragging gently against flesh. “For such a pretty boy, you certainly have a wicked mouth,” he purrs. “That was perfect.” 

Stiles beams, soaking up the praise. ”Thank you, Sir.” He relaxes and leans his weight against Peter’s leg, nuzzling at the leather, ignoring his own throbbing cock. They’ll get to that later he knows, but right now he craves contact, closeness.

He stays there for a while, until eventually Peter pulls him to his feet and kisses him, soft and sweet and tender. “Missed you, darling,” Peter breathes when they finally part.

“Mmm. Missed you too.” Stiles knows there’s been a fundamental shift – it’s not Sir right now, it’s just Peter. He runs a hand over Peter’s ass and slaps the leather lightly. “These are new.”

Peter grins. “I was going in as the infamous big bad biker Alpha, sweetheart. I had to look the part. You like?”

Stiles steals another kiss before replying. “I definitely like. Will you wear them for me again?”

Peter’s grin becomes a smirk. “That could be arranged. Should I wear the gloves, too?”

Stiles nods into Peter’s collarbone where he’s nestled. “Want you to fuck me while you’re wrapped in leather.”

Peter shifts so his hands are under Stiles’ thighs and hoists him up effortlessly. “That could definitely be arranged,” he declares. Stiles wraps his legs around Peter’s waist and lets himself be carried to their bedroom, grinning wildly the whole way.

* * *

“So how did it go anyway, the meet n greet?” Stiles asks later, idly tracing his fingers over Peter’s tattoos, all clothing, leather or otherwise long gone. “Did the other pack check out?”

Peter gives a hum. “Nothing to warrant any concern. The matriarch, her two sons and their families, and a couple of twenty-somethings. They don’t want to share territory so much as be left in peace. It really was a formality before they move into the area for work. It was fine.”

“So, the leather daddy look was wasted on them?” Stiles teases.

Peter arches a brow and fixes Stiles with a look. Stiles isn’t sure how Peter can still look intimidating when he’s buck naked and has come drying on his belly, but he somehow manages it. “Are you implying _anything_ about that look was wasted? Because you certainly seemed to like it.”

“I really did,” Stiles says, stifling a grin. “But I meant wasted on them. You didn’t have to play big bad after all.”

“No I didn’t,” Peter agrees. “Although I stand by my decision not to take you along.”

Stiles rolls over and nudges Peter in the ribs. “Because you were keeping me safe?”

“Because I was keeping you safe.”

“You’re such a fucking sap,” Stiles accuses lightly.

Peter rears up and rolls them over so he’s astride Stiles, pressing him into the mattress and holding him there. He leans down and nips at Stiles’s earlobe. “That’s _Sir_ Sap to you,” he growls.


End file.
